Hoist High the Black Flag
by Contract with a K
Summary: "Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." AU where 8-year-old Dick Grayson is taken in by Slade Wilson to be his apprentice.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

* * *

_Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats. _

_- H. L. Mencken_

* * *

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Prelude~**

Despite the fact that the man is wearing a police uniform in a police station, Dick knows he's not a real police officer. He's wearing an eye patch, which means he's probably blind in one eye, which means he has no depth perception. You can't be a police officer without depth perception.

Which raises the question: what is a man who is not a police officer doing dressed as a police officer in a police station?

His mommy and daddy would probably want him to run out of the room. Or scream. But mommy and daddy are dead and that's why he's in the police station, in Lt. Gordon's office. So it really doesn't matter that this man is only pretending to be a policeman.

But just because he's sad doesn't mean he isn't curious. "What are you doing here?" he asks. If the man is going to kill him, or whatever, he might as well do it sooner rather than later. It's not like there are really that many horrible things the man can do to him.

The man looks amused. "What is a police officer doing in a police station?"

"You're not a police officer."

"Lucky _and_ clever," the man says with a smile.

Dick's blood boils. "Lucky?" he asks with an angry giggle, "_Lucky_? My parents are dead! How is that lucky?"

"Haven't you heard? Bruce Wayne wants to take you in. He's the richest man in all of Gotham. He'll buy you the best of everything. He'll make sure you go to the best prep schools, make the best connections, go the best college. You've got it made kid. And beyond that, everyone knows, Wayne's an incurable bachelor. He'll never get married, he'll never have kids. Play your cards right, and he'll adopt you. Men like Wayne don't live very long. It'll be the sex or the booze or the drugs, but something'll kill him soon. And he has no family. Butler raised him after his folks died. No one to leave all that money to. When Wayne dies, you'll get all his money. Richard Grayson, richest man in Gotham."

Dick looks away, feeling sick. "I don't want any of that."

"Well, what do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" he spits out angrily.

"I don't know. Tell me."

"I want my parents to be alive."

"But that's impossible. So, what do you want? What do you want that you can get?"

Dick stops to think. "Justice. I want justice. I want the police to find the guy who cut the rope. I want them to find him and put him in the electric chair."

The man who isn't a policeman laughs, and it isn't a nice laugh. "You're in the wrong town for that kid. There's no such thing as justice in Gotham. The police is rotten to the core. Jim Gordon's the only good man on the entire force. And there are so many other fish to catch. You think the GCPD is going to go after some two-bit extortionist for a double homicide, when there's people like the Joker and Scarecrow committing mass atrocities? Wake up kid. The GCPD hasn't caught the guy that killed Martha and Thomas Wayne, and Brucie gives millions to the department each year. You think they're going to catch Tony Zucco?"

And then the man kneels down to Dick, who tries to look away, because, he doesn't know why, he doesn't want this man to see him cry, even though, the rational part of his mind knows that he's an eight year old who just saw his parents murdered and he's well within his rights to cry.

"Look at me Richard," the man says, and he cups Dick's face in his hand. "What you want, and what you need, is vengeance. With the right resources and the right training, you can go after Tony Zucco, and you can make him pay, not just for what he did to you, but for what he's done to so many others like you.

"The police wants to put you with Wayne. If you go with him you will have a comfortable existence. You will have money and power. But your parents, they won't have justice, and you won't have revenge.

"But, you don't have to go with Wayne. You can come with me. I know what loss is like. I deal in death and vengeance. And if you come with me, if you follow me, serve me, become my apprentice, I will teach you everything I know, and you will have revenge."

Dick doesn't know what to say.

"Just ask yourself. Wayne's never been able to avenge his parents. He's wasted his life on chasing skirts and downing vodka. Is that the life you want?"

Dick shakes his head.

"So I'll ask you again, what do you want?"

And his lip trembles. "Vengeance."

"Then you'll come with me?"

His mommy and daddy would probably want him to run out of the room. Or scream. But mommy and daddy are dead and that's why he nods his head.

**To be continued...**

**Author's Notes: **

Reviews are to Contract with a K as Cookies are to:

(a) Mitt Romney

(b) Oscar the Grouch

(c) Cookie Monster

(d) Bowties


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter One~**

_One. _

_Two._

_Three._

Piece of Cake. Before, it was counting the seconds to the jump. Now, it's counting the seconds until the guard passes out and slumps down. Count wrong, skip a beat, add a second, and someone winds up dead. Not today of course. He lets go of the guard just at the right moment. It isn't that Renegade refuses to kill, just that he refuses to kill anyone before he can kill Zucco. That was the Master's promise. He will cut his teeth on the flesh of the man who had made him, stain his hands with his blood.

Another guard goes down without a fight. It's almost too easy. Of course, that's because the Master is busy distracting the Flash.

Five minutes later, Renegade is holding the microchip the Master needs.

And then, he isn't.

It takes him an instant to recover, and he spends it gaping at his empty hands. Then he looks up and sees a boy, not much older than himself, leaning against a wall all the way at the other end of the room.

"Let me guess," Renegade asks, unholstering his gun, "Speedy?"

"Nope," the annoying boy answers. "Speedy is Green Arrow's sidekick. What a _poser_, by the way. Copying me. _I'm_ Kid Flash, the _original _sidekick."

Renegade can't help but laugh at the ridiculous idea.

"Creepy laugh," Kid Flash notes. "So, now what's your name?"

Renegade rolls his eyes, not that Kid Flash will be able to see behind his domino mask. He points his gun at him, and _that_ the idiot _can_ see. "Give me back the chip, and I won't hurt you."

"_Dude_, you're like _ten_."

"Twelve."

"What_ever_ man. Do you even know how to shoot that thing."

Renegade fires a warning shot in answer. It whizzes past Kid Flash's ear.

"Well, you still have to hit me!" And then Kid Flash dissolves into a yellow blur. Renegade shoots again. "Missed me! Missed me! Not you gotta kiss me!" Kid Flash taunts.

"That was your second warning," Renegade tells him. It's not hard to predict where Kid Flash will be in the hundredth of a second it'll take the bullet to travel there. Renegade shoots, and Kid Flash crashes in a howl of pain.

"_Fuck! You shot me! You actually fucking shot me!_"

"I gave you two warning shots," Renegade explains with a shrug, then he presses the barrel of the gun to Kid Flash's temple. "Now. I _really_ don't want to kill you, but I really do need that chip." Kid Flash hands it over. "See? That wasn't so hard." Then he tears off the ragged leg of Kid Flash's uniform.

"What the _hell _are you doing?"

He presses it against the wound. "Hold it tight. Don't bleed out." Then, once Kid Flash has the makeshift bandage secured against the wound, he gets up. "So, you're the original sidekick. How long have you been doing this again?"

"Three months."

Renegade's laugh sends a visible shiver through Kid Flash. "Amateur." Then he walks out the door with the chip the Master wanted.

* * *

The Master puts the bullets down on the table, one by one. Each dull sound resounds throughout the lair.

"Three bullets." From the way the Master says it, Renegade knows he's angry.

The Master lays the gun down and stands up. He crosses his arms behind his back and begins to pace around Renegade. He stops behind him and crouches down so his lips are right behind his ears. "And you didn't even kill him."

By now, Renegade has learned not to cringe.

The Master stands up straight.

"Maybe you're not cut out for this."

"Please, Master. I'll do better next time."

The Master sighs. "That's what you said last time. I really don't know what to do with you, Apprentice. I've tried and tried to train you, but… I'm disappointed."

"I'm sorry Master."

"If I had known… I should have left you with Wayne. Do you think he could still want you?"

"Let me prove myself," he begs. "Give me another task."

"I'll consider it. In the meantime, I'll have to punish you. Go practice your sets and don't stop until I come for you."

"Thank you, Master."

* * *

"This will hurt me more than it will hurt you."

Renegade isn't sure if he believes the Master, but he lies back and thinks of vengeance, and not once does he cry out in pain. He owes his parents that much, he knows.

* * *

The next time he meets Kid Flash it's in the outskirts of Paris in a WayneTech research facility and Renegade is caught off guard.

"What are you doing here?" he asks as he unsheathes a katana—guns around high explosives are probably a bad idea.

"Super secret Justice League stuff. Or, my French class is taking a field trip. Either one. But it's probably super secret Justice League stuff."

Renegade laughs. "Give me a second, and don't try anything dumb, or I'll chop off your arm."

"You watch a lot of very violent cartoons, don't you?" Kid Flash asks, but he doesn't move; apparently he learned his lesson last time.

Renegade laughs again. He doesn't watch any cartoons. With his free hand, he types a few commands into his wrist computer. Thirty-four high and middle schools in Central. Twenty-three offer French. Three have had field trips to Europe. One is in the middle of one right now. Fifty students on the trip. Seven with red hair. Two in the right height range.

"What kind of a name is Wallace?" he asks.

From the way Kid Flash's eyes go wide, he knows he's hit the jackpot. He smirks. Wallace, he can tell, is flirting with the idea of lying. Instead he shrugs.

"I go by Wally."

Renegade giggles. "That's the gayest name I've ever heard."

Wally frowns. "I guess it was too much to expect a supervillain's sidekick to be into political correctness."

"I'm not a sidekick."

"Oh, yeah," Wally answers in a tone that leads Renegade to suspect he might be making fun of him. "Neither am I. Neither is Speedy. You didn't learn how to shoot speedsters by yourself."

"I'm an apprentice."

"Ah. So, anyway. I'm Wally. What's your name?"

For a second, Renegade considers telling him that his name is Dick. But that's an even gayer name than Wally. And besides, he's not Dick any more. No one has called him that name in years.

"You can call me Renegade."

"Oooh, angsty handle. But I mean your real name. It's not fair if you know my name is Wally, and I don't know what your name is."

"Life isn't fair," he answers in all seriousness, because it isn't.

"Ok. I guess I'll just call you Roger."

"Why?"

"Jolly Roger. On account of how you're a pirate and you have that creepy laugh."

Renegade laughs.

"Yeah. See, that one."

"Jolly Roger. I like that."

There's an awkward pause.

"So, I guess I should try to stop you."

"I wouldn't recommend it. There are no warning shots with a sword."

"Yeah. Like you could really hit me with that."

"You didn't think I could hit you with a gun either."

"You know, that whole shooting me in the leg thing… really not cool."

Renegade laughs a little brokenly. The Master had thought the same thing.

I couldn't run for a month. Do you know what it's like to be me and not be able to run? It's _torture_. I mean, it should be against the Geneva Convention!" Renegade doesn't think Wally knows anything about torture. But he doesn't say anything about it.

"My parents were pissed too. Flash felt so guilty about it. The worst was Batman though. He and Wonder Woman yelled at Flash for three hours. Speedy and I almost weren't allowed to keep crime fighting anymore."

"Batman's a loser."

"Batman's the coolest. But he's also the leader of the Justice League. Flash almost got kicked out of it."

"Why does Batman care?" he asks, although the question should really be why _he_ cares.

"Batman just doesn't like it when kids get hurt. I don't know. I kind of get the feeling he had a kid once and something bad happened to him." Wally shrugs. "Maybe that's why he became Batman."

"Well, if Batman doesn't like kids getting hurt, you should really not try to stop me, because as I recall, getting dismembers counts as getting hurt."

Kid Flash frowns, but then he nods and leaves.

The Master is pleased with a job well-done.

* * *

He keeps meeting with Wally. It happens every few months, but Wally's the only one who interferes with his heists. At first, it's annoying. But after a while, he starts looking forward to his chats with Kid Flash. They never last more than ten minutes, and Kid Flash is always too afraid to do anything, so it's fun.

In December, Wally drops a parcel on the floor.

"I'd give that to you in person, but you might shoot me."

Renegade doubts it's a bomb, so he picks it up. It's an odd lumpy package wrapped in paper decorated with Christmas trees.

"What's this?"

"A Christmas present. Unless you're Jewish. In which case I guess it's a Hanukah present. You don't celebrate Kwanza, do you?"

Renegade vaguely remembers celebrating Christmas with his parents. He doesn't know what Hanukah or Kwanza are.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

He unwraps it very carefully, taking care not to tear any of the paper. Folded up inside is a black flag with a skull and crossbones. He laughs.

"I think that's the first time you've laughed in a non-creepy way."

"I didn't get you anything."

"I figured you wouldn't. But I saw it, and it made me think of you."

"I like it. But… I can't keep it."

Wally's face falls. "Why not?"

"The Master wouldn't approve."

"So, don't tell him."

"He'd find out."

"Well, you can throw it away, if you want, but I'm not going to take it back."

In the end, he stashes it in a condemned building, under a floorboard. The black flag is the first thing he's owned in years.

* * *

The Master is away for business, and Renegade is having ice cream with Wally. He's wearing a pair of sunglasses he stole and civilian clothes he borrowed from Wally.

The part of him that's bed-wettingly terrified of what the Master might do if (or more likely, when) he finds out is kept at bay by the part of him that's ecstatic to have ice cream for the first time in over four years.

"From the way you eat," Wally says, "you'd think you'd never had ice cream."

"The Master won't let me eat it. Not everyone has your metabolism, you know."

"I know. My friend Artemis—

"You mean the girl you're totally in love with?"

"I'm not in love with her. I'm in love with Miss Martian—

"Which is why you always talk about Artemis, and the only time you talk about Miss Martian is when I point out that you're in love with Artemis."

"Hey, any girl you like?"

"I don't know any girls."

"Lemme guess, the Master doesn't approve. You should come to my school next weekend. There's going to be a dance, and I could introduce you to a couple of cool girls."

"Busy next week." Renegade looks down at his sundae and frowns. He's all out.

"Want another one?" Wally offers. Each of them has already had three sundaes.

"Yes." Renegade gives into temptation. What the Master doesn't know won't hurt him.

So Wally hails down the waitress and asks for two more sundaes.

"You've already ordered like $60 worth of ice cream," the waitress tells him.

Wally takes out his wallet and hands her a few bills. "There, if you're worried about me not paying. Now, bring us our ice cream!"

It's over the fifth sundae that Wally asks, "So, I take it, the Master isn't your dad."

"No."

"And your parents are cool with you, you know… being apprenticed to him."

"They're the reason I'm doing this."

"Like, they're supervillains too—

"No!" Renegade says a little too loudly. "They're not supervillains."

"The Master isn't… you know, keeping them hostage, right?"

"No. It's not that either."

"Because if your parents are in trouble, the League could help with that."

"No one can help my parents."

"If anyone could, the League—

"My parents are _dead_," he snarls out, and then, he realizes he's probably said too much.

Wally bites his lips and looks away. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

"No. It's not."

"One day, I'm going to find the guy that killed them, and I'm going to kill him."

"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

Renegade laughs. "Did you make that up, all by yourself?"

"No. Gandhi said it."

"Who's Gandhi?"

"You don't know who Gandhi is?" Wally looks like Renegade just said he didn't know that two and two made four.

"No. Who was she?"

"He was—

But Wally doesn't get a chance to explain. The Master is calling, and Renegade has to take it.

"Apprentice, I've found him."

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Warning:** Emotional and physical abuse. Stockholm Syndrome.

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter Two~**

"Hey, where are you going?" Wally asks as Renegade runs out of the restaurant.

"None of your business." He doesn't stop.

"Really man? You wound me. Here I thought we were having a moment."

"Thanks for the ice cream," he says, because he did enjoy it. "I have to go."

"Can I come with?"

"No."

"What are you going to steal this time?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Come on, you can tell me. You know I can't stop you."

"You're right. You can't stop me. So _leave me alone_," he snarls.

"Let me help you," Wally pleads.

A hand lands on Renegade's shoulder. His reaction is pure instinct. He flips Wally over his shoulder. Wally's bigger, but Renegade knows how to fight. He holds Wally down; for all his age and weight and superspeed, Wally can't get up.

"You can't help me. I don't need or want your help. And if you keep following me, you're going to follow me to your death. So _stay away_."

"The saddest part is you have no idea how much help you need," Wally says, but he doesn't follow Renegade once he's free.

* * *

Of all the times for Zucco to show up, it had to be when Renegade was having ice cream in Central City. It takes him two hours to get to the lair to collect his weapons: sword, guns, grenades, bo staff, extra bullets—he's a one man arsenal.

This is the moment he's been waiting for. All his life has been for _this_.

If his hands shake as he loads his rifle, it's because he's excited to avenge his parents, and not because he's anxious about killing Zucco. He's killed rats and rabbits and cats and dogs and deer and grizzly bears. Zucco's just another rabid animal.

* * *

It takes five hours to get to Gotham.

"I expected you earlier," the Master says. His tone is neutral, but Renegade understands the rebuke buried under the silky voice. "No matter. This is your business, not mine. You are free to do whatever you want. Take my teachings, and do with them what you will."

"I'll tear out his heart," Renegade promises, to the Master, to his parents, and himself.

The Master puts a hand on his shoulder. It's heavy. Renegade thinks it might mean to be comforting, if he could still feel comfort. "As I said, my apprentice, this is your business, and you are free to do whatever you want. All I require is that you prove worthy of the time and care I have taken to train you. This is what you were born for. Kill the man who murdered your parents.

"But if I may," he smiles. "I have one suggestion."

"I would be honored to hear it, Master."

The Master unsheathes his own sword and drags the blade gingerly down Renegade's cheek. "The brave man does it with a sword. Stain your hands red, and feel the ceasing of his heart."

"Thank you Master." He bows. "I won't disappoint you."

"Don't disappoint yourself."

And then, Renegade is off, to stain his hands with blood.

* * *

It would be an easy shot. He has Zucco in his sights, and for him it would be child's play to shoot the man between the eyes, just as it was child's play for him to swing from his mother to his father on the trapeze.

His heart is beating louder than it ever has before. He can hear each thu-thump like thunder in his ears.

Two hundred meters away.

Zucco would never see it coming, like his parents never saw it coming.

But Renegade wants to savor the moment. He wants Zucco to know it's coming. He want him to tremble in fear, to bargain and beg and wet himself. It's a scenario he's fantasized about for years. Each time he dreams about it, it's a little different. But always, always, he laughs in Zucco's face and all the blood drains from Zucco as he understands that he's going to die and go straight to hell.

He's pulled out of his reverie by a gust of wind and a familiar voice: "You know, you should be careful where you point that thing; someone could get hurt."

Wally, in full Kid Flash regalia.

"I should know," he adds.

"I _told_you. This is not your business. Get out of here."

"Um. Nope. Not gonna happen. Sorry buddy. I'm not going to let you kill him."

Renegade points the gun directly at Wally's head. "Wally, I like you. But Tony Zucco is going to die tonight, and if I have to kill you in order for that to happen, I will. You know I can do it. So be smart and go home."

Wally crosses his arms. "If I were smart, I wouldn't have subjected myself to an experiment that was five times more likely to kill me than give me superpowers."

"I'm not going to give you another warning shot," he warns.

"Friends don't let friends become murderers."

There are a thousand things he wants to say in response to that. That they aren't friends. That killing scum like Zucco isn't murder, any more thank killing a rabid dog would be. That this is all he has.

Everything he wants to scream in answer is channeled into the bullet that he fires straight at Wally's masked face.

It's easy enough for Wally to dodge. "You lied about the warning shots," Wally smirks back.

"No I didn't." He shoots again.

"You did. Wanna know why? _Because you're not a murderer!_"

"I'm about to become one." He shoots again; that one isn't a warning shot.

The bullet is supposed to hit Wally in the leg, just like last time. Wally is supposed to howl in pain, crash over himself, and let him go on with his business, like last time.

But the bullet doesn't hit Wally, and no matter how well trained Renegade may be, there's nothing that could have prepared him for Wally moving at the speed of sound. He has excellent reflexes, but he's only human. In the blink of an eye, his weapons are all lying on the floor five feet away, and in another blink, he's down too, with his arms and legs tied behind his back.

"You didn't think that trick was going to work twice, did you?" Wally gloats. "Flash wouldn't let me anywhere near you if it would. I've been training with Batman for this."

Renegade is ashamed to admit that he really had. But it doesn't matter. He has some sleeping power left on him, and if he can just get free—

"Don't bother, Roger. Batman himself couldn't get out of those."

There's nothing to pick, no give to the material. He can't even dislocate his arms to get a better angle on the thing.

He actually can't get out. After all these years, Zucco is going to get away. Kid Flash is going to let Zucco get away, and for the rest of his life, he's going to know that he had his rifle trained on Zucco's brains and didn't pull the trigger.

Panic. Heartache. He doesn't know the word for the thing he's feeling, but he knows it feels like dying. With his heart thundering in his ears, he does the only thing he can think to do.

He begs.

"Please. Please. Just. Let me go. I'll let you take me in, after. It won't matter. All I want is to kill him. Really, that's all I want. Everything will be worth it if I can just kill him. He deserves to die too. He killed my parents. And other people. He's a rabid dog. This is all I have. I've lost everything else, don't take this away from me." He finds he's crying, without meaning to. Everything else. Every cruel torture and harsh punishment from the Master he could withstand, because he knew his reward would be revenge, but not this.

Kid Flash kneels down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Renegade can't even get away from it. "I'm really sorry you feel that way Roger. The League is going to make sure that they take him in. I promise you, he'll get what he deserves."

"He deserves to _die_!" he howls.

Wally's voice is very calm. "Maybe. Probably. But that's for a jury of his peers to decide."

"Why? Why can't I decide? Do you know what my life has been? I've paid my dues. I deserve this. He deserves this! My parents deserve revenge."

"Your parents will get justice. And you'll get help."

Renegade spits in a hot rage. "I don't need _help_I need revenge!"

Wally doesn't say anything. He just squeezes his shoulder a little and sits in silence. Renegade screams and howls and rages, but nothing helps. And by the time the Flash shows up to collect them, Renegade's throat is raw and every muscle hurts.

* * *

It's becoming a pattern. Zucco. Police station.

Everything is different this time. Of course. He's older. He's not the poor victim in Lt. Gordon's office. He's the vicious criminal in a holding cell. Apparently, it's top security. The one they usually hold the Joker in.

If he can't escape, he at least wants to make them very sorry for thinking they can keep him here against his will. He bites a police officer's finger off when he tries to take off his mask, and then he refuses to give it up even if the copper taste of blood makes him sick. It takes ten men and an injection of sedatives to get the finger away from him. Even as he feels himself drifting off to sleep he chews on the finger as hard as he can out of spite and his last conscious thought is, "Let them try to reattach that."

* * *

Wally's there when he wakes up. He's handcuffed to the bed, so he can't even turn his back on Wally.

"That was kind of a dick move," Wally says. "Biting that cop's finger off."

He doesn't answer.

"The League wants to help you."

He rolls his eyes. They took his mask away, so Wally can actually see him do it.

"I know you don't believe me, but we do. We know you have… something of a unique situation, and like I said, Batman really doesn't like it when kids get hurt. And we know you've been hurt. We really, _really_want to help you.

"But you need to help us to help you. Biting cops is going to make things worse."

Renegade ignores him.

"Also. I thought you should know. Batman captured Zucco. The DA is working hard on the indictment as we speak."

He shrugs.

"If he's guilty, your parents will get justice."

Wally's trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't let him bait him.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment?" Wally rolls his eyes. "Real mature, Roger."

Twenty minutes of silence later, Wally gets up. "One day, after lots and lots of counseling, you're going to thank me for this."

* * *

It's louder than last time. There's more gunfire, and more explosions, but for the second time, Slade Wilson walks out of a GCPD police station with a boy he isn't supposed to have.

* * *

"You should be glad your parents are dead, so they can't see what a wretched, miserable, _pathetic_failure their son turned out to be."

Each word falls like a lash, all the heavier and all the more hurtful because all of it is true.

He's a wretched, miserable, pathetic failure.

Years of training. Years of praying. Of hoping and dreaming. Wasted because he didn't pull the trigger when he had the chance. Everything ruined because Kid Flash played him like a fiddle.

"A punk with nine months of experience stopped you. I don't know what I've been doing these past _four years_." A slap falls across his cheek, hard enough to throw him to the floor. He could have blocked it, but he knows full well he deserves it. He doesn't try to get up.

The Master crouches down and grabs him by the hair. Pulls him up with a harsh yank, until their eyes are level and Renegade's feet dangle above the floor.

"You know what I think? I think you didn't even want to do it."

That hurts like a punch to the stomach. Hurts more than the slap, more than the pressure on his scalp.

"Because I know what you can do. I know that if you'd wanted to, you'd have killed him. _But you didn't have the nerve._

"You know. I think you had more balls when you were eight. I think you've forgotten, what Zucco did to you. Forgotten that you swore to avenger your parents.

"Unless you never loved them.

"That must be it, huh? You never really loved your parents. Otherwise, you would have stopped at nothing to destroy the man that murdered them. Maybe…" the Master laughs. "Maybe you were even glad they died. Maybe the reason you couldn't do it was because you're secretly thankful he did it."

Renegade is about to answer—because the Master is wrong. He loves his parents more than anything. He wanted to kill Zucco more than anything. But he doesn't get the chance, because the Master smashes his head against the wall suddenly with so much force that everything goes white for a few moments, and then afterwards he's dizzy and dazed, and then he's falling fast and hard against the concrete floor of the warehouse.

There's a crack as the Master's steel-toed boot clashes against his chest. Then the other boot hits him in the stomach so hard he can't breathe. The Master yanks him up by the arm—there's a pop and a flash of blinding pain as his arm comes out of the socket, and then he's flying across the room. He crashes with a thud and a crack, falling on his arm.

If he could have fought at the beginning, he can't anymore. Everything hurts, and the more it goes on, the more it hurts.

But what hurts most of all, more than the breaking of his bones or the tearing of his flesh, is the knowledge that he deserves it all and more. He tries to avoid the tell-tale sounds of pain, the moans and grunts and cries, because he knows that this is all a good and fitting punishment for failing his parents and betraying the Master.

It's too much however, and as the Master kicks him down a flight of stairs he lets out a scream. It seems to boil the Master's blood, and his punishment becomes harsher still. Renegade can't see, and he's not sure if it's because the light is off, or if his injuries are getting to him. The rational part of himself hopes it's the former. Hopes the Master will be kind enough to kill him. There's no point to his life anyway. It might as well end now.

But he's a coward, and the instinct to survive is strong, and though he knows he deserves every blow and more, he finds himself struggling to crawl away, curling in on himself, trying to protect his head and the soft tissues of his torso.

The blows still fall, one after the other, all in fast succession, until even the black fades away into oblivion.

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Warning:** Emotional and physical abuse. Stockholm Syndrome.

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter Three~**

The recovery is slow. It takes a month and a half before the casts can come off, and by then he's terribly out of shape. But the Master is kind and patient and takes his time re-training him, even though both he and the Master know he isn't worth it. He wants to thank the Master. Wants to ready himself for the next time he has a shot at Zucco. So he pushes himself harder than he's ever pushed himself before. He trains until his fists bleed and his legs literally can't move.

The Master notices.

"I'm glad to see you're learning from your mistakes," he tells him one day. "I only wish, for your sake, that it weren't too late."

"Too late?" Renegade doesn't understand.

"Do you want to see what justice looks like?" the Master asks.

Renegade doesn't answer.

"Follow me, there's something you should see."

The Master leads him to his room. It's a Spartan place with nothing more than his uniform and weapons and a small cot, except now there's a box on the floor and a newspaper on the bed.

"Turn to page A7."

He does as he's told.

**_Boss Zucco Cops Plea, Goes Into Witness Protection_**

_By Vicky Vale_

_(Gotham City) In the crime capital of the world, carrying the right insurance can be pricey, just ask Anthony Zucco. A self-described businessman, he was the man to see if you needed protection. And if you didn't need protection, Zucco would see to it that you did. Suspected of extortion, no fewer than twenty counts of arson, and multiple homicides, Zucco's most spectacular crime was long thought to be the murder of Mary and John Grayson, and of their son Richard. _

_In Gotham, it's a story almost as famous as that of the Wayne murders. When Pop Haley, an out of towner who didn't know how business was done in Gotham refused to pay Zucco's "insurance" fee, the mobster sabotaged the ropes for the trapeze act. The Graysons fell to their deaths and young Richard was left as the only witness to the crime—but not for long. Zucco, or so the story goes, spirited Richard out of police headquarters and disappeared. _

_Until now. _

_Zucco, who has long been sought by the police, the FBI, and even the Justice League was finally captured by the Batman and brought into police custody. Harvey Dent, the Gotham District Attorney who is up for reelection this year, had been ready to charge Zucco with racketeering, arson, and two counts of murder in the first degree and ask that Zucco be given the death penalty, but as of yesterday, it seems he struck a deal with the alleged extortionist._

_The decision to strike a plea bargain has proven unpopular in some quarters. Detective Harvey Bullock, for instance, who was originally assigned to investigate the Grayson murders had to be physically restrained to keep him from assaulting Mr. Dent. "I'd like to give him one, pow, right in the kisser, see what he does when his pretty face ain't so pretty," Detective Bullock said later. Ordinary citizens have also shown outrage; the phones in the DA's office haven't stopped ringing all morning. _

_Nonetheless, Mr. Dent defends his decision. "Obviously, I can't give you all the details," Mr. Dent explained, "but Zucco has provided us with some very interesting new information that casts the crimes of which he was suspected in a new light. Between that and information he's able to provide about other wanted criminals we were able to come to an arrangement, which will save taxpayers millions of dollars in litigation costs, and which will make the citizens of Gotham significantly safer by helping us put major criminals in Blackgate where they belong."_

_Batman could not be reached for comment, and our calls to the GCPD went unanswered. One person who supports the arrangement, however, is Bruce Wayne. Like Richard Grayson, Mr. Wayne watched his own parents be murdered, and furthermore, Mr. Wayne was in attendance the night the Graysons fell to their deaths. He has long been involved in the case of the missing boy, having successfully sought to be appointed the boy's legal guardian in the boy's absence, and offering a reward of $100 million to anyone with information on the whereabouts of Dick Grayson, who would now be 13. However, Mr. Wayne is also a long-time friend of Mr. Dent, and his biggest political backer, having set up a super PAC to back Mr. Dent's re-election campaign this year. _

_"Emotionally, it's a very difficult situation," Mr. Wayne said. "Obviously, you want closure, you want to see the perp get what he deserves, and it's easy to just grab the guy and, bam, throw the book at him. But you also want justice. I know Harvey Dent, and I know that that's his business, making sure that justice is done. If Harvey thinks giving an unpopular criminal a deal like this is a good idea, then he must have a good reason."_

_When asked if this meant he'd continue to back Mr. Dent's campaign, Mr. Wayne nodded. "Absolutely. There's no one I'd trust more than Harvey. He's the hero Gotham needs."_

By the time he's done reading the article, his whole body is shaking in outrage.

"That, Apprentice, is what _justice _ looks like.

"And _this_, Apprentice," the Master slides the metal box forward with hit foot, "is what revenge looks like."

Something like fear takes hold of Renegade's stomach as he falls to his knees to open the box. Inside, staring up at him, pale and glassy eyed, is the head of Tony Zucco.

"No," he breathes out, voice trembling. "No. No. No. No, no, no. Nonono_nonono_, **NO**!" And there's nothing other than panic in his mind, because he's been denied everything, even his revenge.

In an instant he's up on his feet, hands on the Master's throat.

"_You did this_," he snarls as he tightens his hold. "You knew what this meant to me, and you did this! You took the last thing I had away from me."

The Master doesn't struggle.

"Why!?" Renegade demands. "Why would you do this to me?" Tears are streaming down his face.

"Why?" he asks again and again. The Master doesn't struggle, doesn't answer, doesn't even gasp for breath. Renegade knows he could kill him.

But then where would he be?

The Master is all Renegade knows.

He lets the Master go and collapses on a heap on the floor.

"It had to be done," the Master says. The Master is on his knees besides him. And suddenly, the Master's arms are wrapped around him. It's an odd, alien feeling. No one has held him like this since the night his parents died. Not even on that night has the Master held him like this.

He wants to scream, to claw out the Master's eyes, to cut out his own heart. Bt he can't do any of those things. His throat is too sore to scream, and the Master is holding him tightly.

"They were going to move him into witness protection. Batman and the Justice League were going to help. We might never have found him again."

After what seems like hours, Renegade asks, "What do I do now?"

"That's for you to decide."

With a swallow, Renegade gets up, and then he takes the paper up again.

"I'll make them pay," he vows.

"I believe you."

What's more, Renegade believes himself. He will make them pay: Wally, Dent, and Wayne.

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Warning:** Emotional and physical abuse. Stockholm Syndrome. Slade is an absolute monster.

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter Four~**

In retrospect, he thinks, it should have been obvious. Did he really think that Kid Flash would be interested in spending time with him? What? For the pleasure of his company? And he had actually thought that Kid Flash would be stupid enough to stay around him if he couldn't protect himself? And if Kid Flash could protect himself, why wouldn't he stop him?

Unless he was playing a larger game.

And he was.

But Renegade is fine with being big game. If Wallace West wants to hunt, they'll see who gets gored.

* * *

Maybe he can't beat Kid Flash in fair fight, but Wallace was the first to play dirty.

* * *

Low tech, he decides is the way to go. The blowgun is awkward to carry, but the dart is small and fast, and Kid Flash doesn't even hear it coming. It hits it's mark, the back of Kid Flash's neck, and by instinct, the redhead moves to scratch it.

Before his hand can make it to the wound, however, the boy is lying on the floor.

* * *

He has Kid Flash strung up upside down. He's monitoring the speedster's vitals. At the rate he's metabolizing the poison, he should be waking any moment now.

"Gluhg?" is the first word out of Kid Flash's mouth when he wakes up.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Renegade says, getting up. "For a while, I wasn't sure you were going to make it. Impressive metabolism, though, normally, that dose would kill an elephant."

"Wha… Di…huh?"

"Everything feels like it's made out of lead, doesn't it?" Renegade taunts. "That would be the muscle relaxants. Again, _impressive_ metabolism. I'm surprised your heart's still pumping."

He shrugs.

"Well, kinda. I figured there was a fifty-fifty shot I'd get the dosage right."

"D'gyakinnapmeh?"

Renegade ignores the question. Instead he slaps Kid Flash and sends him swinging like a piñata. Renegade very vaguely remembers having a piñata at his sixth birthday party.

"Con_grat_ulations! You did it! You saved the life of a murderer!" And then he hits Kid Flash again. Hard this time. "Oh, wait, no. You didn't.

He holds up the paper. "Look at what your so-called Justice League did!" He rolls the paper up and slams it against Kid Flash's stomach. The boy gives something of a whelp. "In the end, I guess it doesn't matter. Tony Zucco's still dead—tragedy, I know. Except, I didn't get a chance to do it.

"That was all I wanted, you know? I mean, _really_, is it _so much_ to ask, you know, _let me kill the fucking bastard who killed my parents and who knows who else?"_

"Wassensup—

Another hit cuts him off and blood begins to creep down Kid Flash's cheek.

"That was all I had to live for. He took everything from me, and then, you took the last thing I had. And for that you're going to pay. You and Dent, and whoever else. I swear, I'll raze the world to the ground if I need to!"

"Warryagonadoo?"

This punch breaks his nose with a crunch.

"No more talking. This is all your fault. You did this. Well, blood must be repaid with blood, and if I can't have Zucco's…" He shrugs. "Harvey Dent." He laughs. "What a guy. What a hero. Letting trash like Zucco on the street. The hero Gotham deserves? He's a _politician_.

"Do you know what I'm going to do, Wally?

"I'm going to take the one thing Dent wants most away from him, like he took my vengeance away from me. It'll be interesting to see him try to get re-elected when all his funders wind up dead."

"Wayne," Kid Flash manages with effort.

"To start.

"Don't worry though. I understand he doesn't know what he's doing. I know the man's an idiot. I'll go easy on him. Hell, they might even be able to identify his remains.

"You though?' He pinches Kid Flash's cheek, "You and I are going to have a _hell_ of a time."

**Author's Notes: **Oops. Posted chap 5 by accident. I'll repost it tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Warning:** Emotional and physical abuse. Stockholm Syndrome. Slade is an absolute monster.

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter Four~**

Money can't buy everything, but apparently, one thing it can buy is a first-rate security system. Under all the ivy, stately Wayne Manor is an impregnable fortress. The main Wayne Enterprises building is almost as secure—it's nothing like the lab facilities he's robbed before.

It's hard work, looking for a chink in the armor. Wayne, apparently, is a paranoid freak. Renegade wonders if it's because of the mugging, and concludes that must be it. Of course a coward like Wayne would react to his parent's murder by putting himself as far away from harm's way as possible.

But finally, he finds it: the weakness he's looking for. There's a system of airvents just big enough for him to fit, and if he hacks the motion sensors, he'll be able to get right into Wayne's private bathroom.

On another mission, he might consult with the Master to make sure he isn't missing anything. But this is personal. He has to do it himself, succeed or fail on his own efforts. So he loads up on ammunition, takes his favorite sword and a few knives for good measure, and heads out.

* * *

He plans to move quickly. Strike: wound Wayne just right so his slow and painful death will be assured. As he crawls through the vents he goes over his speech, over and over, memorizing it.

But when he bursts through the door into Wayne's office, the man doesn't even look up.

"Just give me a second to finish this sentence," he says absently, and continues typing. It's dark outside, and Wayne has the Gotham skyline to his back. The lights are dimmed, and the pale light from the monitor gives his face an eerie pale glow. The airheaded nonchalance catches him off guard, and Renegade actually complies with the request.

_I want to see his eyes when I kill him,_ he tells himself. That's the only reason he hasn't yet driven his sword into Wayne's belly.

Wayne finishes typing with a strong hit to the enter key and then looks up. Wayne looks old. Tired. His blue eyes have dark circles beneath them.

If he's startled by the sight of a boy, armed to the teeth, he doesn't show it. It's another disconcerting thing about Wayne, though this time, Renegade forgets to justify to himself why he hasn't already impaled Wayne.

"Can I get you anything?" Wayne asks finally.

"What?"

"Do you want something?"

There's an answer on the tip of Renegade's tongue.

"A soda? Coffee? Water? Juice? I'd offer you alcohol, but you don't look like you're 21."

"I'm here to—

"Kill me?" Wayne cuts him off, tone still neutral, as if though he's asking his secretary if she has those papers he asked for.

Renegade nods.

"I figured as much." Wayne stands up, and then, incredibly turns his back on Renegade to look out the window at Gotham. "I take it that means Zucco is dead."

"Now I'll never have my vengeance," Renegade snarls.

"I see. I knew you might try to kill me. But I have to say, I'm not sure why."

"Dent. Batman took Zucco into police custody, and Dent cut a deal with the bastard. You're Dent's biggest donor."

"Harvey is a good man, and better even, a good DA. The best Gotham's had, at least for a long, long time."

"You don't have a very good self-preservation instinct."

"No, I really don't," Wayne admits. Then he shrugs. "Although, on the other hand, I am still alive."

"Not for long."

Renegade draws his sword and Wayne turns back to face him. "Do what you must," he tells him. "I've always known I would die violently."

"Like your parents."

"Like my parents."

"You better than _anyone_ should understand," Renegade snarls. "How dare you say that Dent is anything other than a two-faced monster when he let the man who killed my parents walk?"

"I'd explain it to you, but I'm not sure you'd understand. I'm afraid you might be too far gone. So, if this is what you want, kill me and be done with it."

Renegade has the sword firmly in his grasp.

This is it.

He's going to kill someone. Not an animal. A human being. Not Zucco. Not the man who killed his parents.

Wayne.

Wayne who always tries to keep him away from revenge.

Wayne who doesn't seem to be fighting, even as Dick walks up to him and puts his sword on his breast.

It will just take a slight shove. A push. The sword will slip through his ribs into his heart, and Wayne will die.

"What would Mary have thought about her little Robin becoming a murderer?' Wayne asks.

He doesn't mean to. But he stumbles back. His hand trembles. He drops the sword and the clank of metal on marble resounds through the office.

Suddenly there's a different light in Wayne's face. He doesn't look quite so old anymore.

"I know what it's like Richard. I know what it feels like, to see you parents murdered. I know how it hurts. It's a gnawing pain in your heart, and it never goes away. I know how the rage and the impotence and the guilt feel. I know what it's like to have hot fire in your blood, screaming in outrage, crying out for sense or justice or any semblance of it.

"And I know what it's like not to get it. Every night, when I go to bed, I still see the face of the man who did it. I hear his voice, asking for my mother's pearls. I hear the gunshot, smell the powder and blood. And even though I see that face and hear that voice every night in my nightmares, I have no idea who he was. I have no idea why he did it. Was he evil? Was he desperate? Was he greedy? Was he drunk?

"Where is he now? Does he have a loving wife and children who can't begin to imagine what he did? Is he in prison? Is he even alive? Does he live in terror of the day he meets his maker?

"And there are so many other questions: What if I hadn't told my mother to wear the pearls? What if I hadn't asked them to take me to the movie? What if I hadn't made them take me to a second showing? What if I hadn't told them I was cold—would we not have taken that shortcut through that alley? What if I hadn't whimpered? What if I had screamed?

"And that question: Why? Why?

"When I was a boy, that was the question that burned the most. I was sure it had to be something important. It couldn't just be a simple mugging in a back alley. My father was a rich and powerful man. My mother's charity work angered many people. I was sure someone had targeted them for a reason. I was sure I could find it, and if I found the reason, I could find who was behind it, and I could make them all pay.

"So I came up with a reason. The Court of Owls."

"That's just a story," Renegade answers. His voice sounds strange. Alien. Renegade knows he has to end this, soon, before Wayne—

He's not sure what Wayne will do. But he feels that Wayne is doing something. Certainly, Wayne is making him feel… something. It's a new feeling, or, more accurately, a half-forgotten one. But it's a feeling that he doesn't like. He can feel it turning to dread in the pit of his stomach.

He moves to strike Wayne with a knife in a fluid motion, but the image on Wayne's monitor catches his eye. If his skills are good enough to kill in ten seconds flat, they're also good enough to stop himself with a second to spare.

All of Wayne's monitor is taken up by a single picture.

A picture of ropes.

Ropes he recognizes, because how cold he ever forget the ropes he and his parents used to swing on? But these are the ropes _after_. It's a picture of the ropes where they were cut.

"You can zoom in," Wayne offers, and he does. "Meticulous work," Wayne says, giving voice to what Renegade had been thinking. The ropes weren't cut half-hazardly with a pocket knife. There's a fastidious perimeter cut, and the cuts are so precise Renegade thinks they must have been made with a scalpel. The two ropes were cut _exactly_ the same way.

"This doesn't make any sense," he mutters, mostly to himself.

"Why not?" Wayne asks, in a way that sounds like he already knows the answer.

"Sabotage like this takes access to tools, patience, and a remarkably steady hand. Zucco was a two-bit hood. He couldn't have done this."

"That's what I told Harvey."

"These cuts were designed so the rope would give at 200 pounds?"

"250." His father weighed 170. His mother 128.

He feels sick.

There are more files on the computer. Statistical reports, video footage of the fall, detailed diagrams of the routine—Daddy would swing to the first swing, then the second, Mommy to the first, then he would swing to Mommy, swing to Daddy, back to Mommy, then back to the platform, and Daddy would swing to Mommy—the notes go on, but it doesn't matter, because that's when they fell. Scans of ticket stubs and bank statements of payments—long lists of people who had bought tickets to different performances.

Dread sinks its hooks into him a he looks through those lists.

Antonio Sabàto.  
Ron Perlman.  
Michael Hogan.  
Jeffrey Robinson.  
Bruce Davison.  
Tracy Bush.  
Larry Grimm.

And those are only the aliases he knows about.

The Mas—Slade had been to at least seven performances over the course of the three months preceding his parents' deaths.

He drives the knife in his hand through the keyboard, into the desk, and throws the monitor across the room. Wayne doesn't stop him. His cheeks are wet. His throat hurts. His hands are shaking. His legs feel like they've turned to jelly. The strength goes out of his whole body, and he falls to his knees like a puppet whose strings have just been cut.

He's crying now, in earnest, like the little boy that he is, under the armor and years of merciless training.

And then Wayne has him in his arms, and Dick doesn't quite understand why. He cries and cries for what seems like an eternity, and through it all, Wayne holds him.

"He killed my parents, and I—

"Richard," Wayne says, stroking his hair, "You're a little boy. A very evil man tricked you and hurt you. That's not your fault. This is not your fault."

"I'm so stupid," he cries through pants and sobs. And he is, because he could have been with Wayne—Wayne could have helped him find justice for his parents—and instead, he went with Wilson, his parents' murderer.

"Shhhh," Wayne says kindly. "It's over Dick. The nightmare is over. I'm just sorry I couldn't stop it sooner. When your parents died—I was there. I don't know if you know. If you remember. I wanted to take you in. And then you disappeared. That shouldn't have happened. And then, I couldn't find you. That shouldn't have happened either. I'm so sorry I failed you so hard and for so long Dick, but I'm here now.

"When Wally found you—

That's a like a shot of lightning straight to his stomach. He gasps and pulls back.

"Slade has Wally!"

**Author's Notes: **And there you go. A cliff-hanger.

Why?

Because I'm evil. The worst part is I've got a sudden bout of writer's block. But maybe reviews will help with that. Oh, also, the aliases are all actors who have portrayed Slade, at least according to Wikipedia.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Angst

**Warning:** Emotional and physical abuse. Stockholm Syndrome. Slade is an absolute monster.

**Summary: **_"Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." _Dick Grayson was raised by Slade Wilson AU.

**Author's Notes: **This story is ongoing and is being posted roughly concurrently at the YJ Anon Meme. It's the second in a series of AU fics about Dick Grayson being raised by supervillains instead of Batman.

**Hoist High the Black Flag**

**~Chapter Six~**

"Slade has Wally!"

Wayne's arms tense around him. The older man pulls back. Blue eyes meet blue eyes.

"What do you mean, Slade has Wally?" Wayne asks.

His eyes were so soft before. Now they're sharp. There's something about Wayne. He changes like quicksilver. Renegade doesn't understand. It scares him, a little.

"Where is Wally?" Wayne asks again, voice smooth and insistent.

"He's at the lair," Renegade stutters out. "Wally. I kidnapped him. I was going to—

His stomach does a flip of protest.

Renegade was going to torture Wally to death. That had been his plan. The thought makes him sick.

Wayne, fortunately, is too distracted by Wally's predicament to care about the kind of monster Renegade is. In an instant, Wayne is up, sharp eyes alert. He presses a finger to his ear—apparently he has a communicator of some sort—and begins to speak. "Flash, come in..." Wayne's voice is sure. Commanding. Comforting and terrifying all at once. "I need you to meet me at BC-1 immediately… I'll tell you when you get here."

Then he presses his hand to his ear again. "Diana, Kal… BC-1. I'll need neutral arbitrators."

Before Renegade can fully process the fact that Wayne is on a first name basis with Wonder Woman and Superman, Wayne is handing him a box of tissues and pulling him up. And then Wayne's picked up Renegade's sword and pulled his knife out of the desk, and Wayne's hand is on Renegade's shoulder, steady, firm, forceful, steering him to the wall. Wayne pulls off the head of a copper bust on the bookshelf and the bookshelf slides away to reveal a hidden room.

This wasn't in the blueprints.

Wayne types something on a panel and a woman calls out "Access Granted, A-005, Richard Grayson."

Then there's a flash of bright light and suddenly, Rengade isn't looking at a secret room in Wayne's office. They're in a cave. He thinks. When he was six, his parents took him on a trip to Carlsbad Caverns. He remembers being afraid. This place is like that. And maybe he already knows where he is. Maybe that's why he feels so sick. Sicker than he did just moments ago when he realized what Deathstroke had done, what Wayne could have done. Sicker than when he remembered what he'd done to Wally, what he'd planned to do to Wally.

He feels faint. The world is almost spinning around him and his stomach finally can't take it anymore. He doubles over and in an instant his lunch is all over Wayne's $700 loafers. There's no trace of annoyance or disgust from Wayne. He simply puts his hand on Renegade's shoulder to steady the boy.

"What the hell is going on?" a voice calls out. From the frantic tone and too-fast pace, Renegade knows it's the Flash.

"Calm you—

"You summon me here at a moment's notice, and you call in Supes and Wondy, _and_ you bring a supervillain into the Batcave? I just got off the phone with Mary. She thought Wally was with me.

"I don't know where my nephew is, but I have a very bad feeling about it, so until I find out where he is, I'm not going to _fucking calm myself!_"

Wonder Woman is there too. So is Superman. If Batman were here, they'd have the Trinity. Renegade wonders idly why Wayne didn't invite Batman.

She puts a hand on the Flash's shoulder and suddenly the man seems to slow down, even if he hasn't really been moving. "Bruce. What happened?" she asks, voice regal. "Wally is currently in Deathstroke's custody," Wayne explains. The Flash blurs. Renegade imagines that's what trembling looks like at super speed.

In the blink of an eye, Wayne is on the ground, Flash vibrating angrily above him. "You motherfucking _bastard_!"

In another blink Superman is standing between the Flash and Wayne. "Getting angry won't help anything," Superman explains calmly.

"Superman is right," Wonder Woman agrees.

"I knew this mission was too dangerous!"

"Wally knew the risks," Superman says.

"Wally is a hot-headed teenager who knew that if he didn't give Batman something he wanted I was going to get out kicked out of the Justice League, and Batman is a manipulative bastard. I knew this mission was too dangerous, and for what? For a psychopathic _brat_?"

"For a _friend_ Flash," Wayne counters, getting up. "Wally took the mission because he considered Richard a _friend_ and wanted to save him. And that is a good and noble thing to do. And now we have a good and noble thing to do, which is to save our young friend."

"Agreed," Wonder Woman nods. "We have to save Kid Flash. Arguing amongst ourselves will get us nowhere."

"Richard." Wayne keeps calling him Richard. No one has called him Richard in so long. He hasn't had a name, other than Renegade or Apprentice or Jolly Roger in years, and now, tonight, when his hideousness has been revealed, Wayne has given him his name back and called him Dick and Richard and Robin, and all of those names are wrong because the little boy whose mother called him that could never have tried to kill an innocent man in cold blood, or kidnapped and tortured and planned to murder the only person to have shown him kindness in years. "We need to find Wally and get him back from Deathstroke before Deathstroke hurts him further. We need your help with that."

Renegade swallows. He nods. He's not sure where his voice has gone. He swallows again. Finally, his voice is back. "I… I took him to one of the Mas—Slade's lairs. It's located in Bludhaven. The-Slade expects me to return there after I've finished the job with Way—with you, Mr. Wayne."

"The four of us together shouldn't have a problem," Superman starts, but Renegade cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head. The surveillance on the warehouse is too good. There's no way anyone could get in or out without the Master noticing, and if he saw the League was approaching."

"So what do you suggest?" Wayne asks.

"I could go back—

"No." Wayne's tone bears no arguing. "It's too dangerous."

"What?" Flash bellows. "It's not too dangerous for Wally, but it's too dangerous for the brat? What about helping friends and good and noble things?"

"Wally has not been subject to the emotional and physical abuse of a manipulative monster like Deathstroke for the last four years."

"All the more reason to think Richard can take care of himself."

"I am not sending a child with Stockholm Syndrome back to his kidnapper!"

"Bullshit! When it's a kid you care about, the rules are different."

"Bruce. Flash. This is not the time to argue." "Agreed. I'm pulling rank. Richard stays here. I'll go to Bludhaven. Selina owes me a favor, and if anyone can get into Wilson's HQ without being noticed, she can."

"It's too risky," Superman says. "Selina is brilliant, but not perfect, and we've seen how sophisticated Wilson is. He's eluded the League for four years. It's possible not even Selina would be able to get you in, not with the schedule we're working on, and we can't afford even the slightest chance that Wilson will see you coming.

"Bruce. I know how much Richard means to you. How much it means to you that we've finally got him back. But Wally needs to be saved, and right now, Richard is in the best position to do that."

Wayne starts to shake his head, but Wonder Woman places a gentle hand on his arm. "Bruce. We've got him back. We'll get him back again."

"This is my fault. Let me fix it," Renegade pleads. Begs.

And finally Wayne crumples. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Alright then."

He turns around and starts to walk away. Renegade doesn't understand at first, but the superheroes all follow him, so he does too. The cave is enormous, and it's filled with strange and wonderful things. A massive playing card. A dinosaur. Weapons, masks, knicks and knacks. And there's an enormous computer. Renegade has never seen something so beautiful. Under better circumstances he might even be impressed.

Wayne presses a button on the computer and the image of a man ironing flickers onto the massive screen. "Alfred, please tell me you haven't roasted that pig you bought yet."

"No, Master Bruce, I haven't."

"Could you please bring it down to the Cave?"

"Right away Master Bruce."

"Wait here," Wayne says and disappears for a few moments. He reappears holding a bag of red liquid. Renegade realizes it's blood. "Superman, I'm going to need to ask Clark Kent a favor. Vicky Vale too."

"What favor?"

"I need rumors of my death to be greatly exaggerated. Tell Mr. Kent and Ms. Vale I'm sorry for the damage this is going to do to their reputations."

"It's Perry White you should be apologizing to," Superman answers, almost lightly. Renegade misses the joke, if there is one. Then Superman nods. "I'll get right on it." Then he's gone.

The old man, Alfred, shows up a few minutes later with a whole pig. It's only once he sees the dead animal that Renegade understands what Wayne is planning. The man takes the carcass from Alfred and sits it up in a chair. Without a moment's hesitation he undoes his tie and takes off his jacket and shirt. His skin is riddled with scars of all shapes and sizes. Like Renegade's is.

Wayne puts the bag of blood on the pig's chest and closes the shirt around the pig. Renegade doesn't need to be told what to do. He unsheathes his sword and plunges it into the dead animal. The bag bursts leaving his hands covered in Batman's blood. It's red and cold and sticky. He leaves the sword in for a moment while he vomits again. Wayne's pulled up the _Daily Planet _and _Gotham Post _websites. His smiling face is plastered on both their homepages. _**Billionaire Playboy, Bruce Wayne, Found Murdered**_ reads one headline. _**New Wayne Murder**_ reads the other.

Wayne smiles grimly. "Good old Clark.

"Now," he asks, "what's the plan?"

**Author's Notes: **This was one of the harder chapters to write, and I'm not quite fond of how it came out. There are too many characters doing too many things, and I use the word and too many times. It's hard to hit the balance of interests between Dick and Wally, and to get across why Batman and Flash are at odds, and why each, under the circumstances is being reasonable. I'm not overly familiar with the character of Barry, though he tends to get portrayed as a saint most of the time. I'm slightly afraid I might be overly harsh in this interpretation. It's hard to balance Barry being a good guy and Barry being terrified because Wally is with Slade. On the other hand, Bruce deciding to pull rank is also a dick move. Basically, I have no idea if this is terrible.

And the other reason I have no idea if this is terrible is because of the Bruce=Batman connection. There's a single subtle line that indicates that Dick finally gets what the deal is with Batman. I'm not confident at all that this is how it should work.

Thoughts as always would be appreciated.


End file.
